


Echoes

by wings128



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Coming Untouched, Established Relationship, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 15:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2777495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wings128/pseuds/wings128
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But now, in the realm of night, where his ghosts held the power; John fought the strength that held him.  The light he did not deserve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Echoes

It was routine; waking with the dying echoes of a scream on his lips. Nightmares had been his constant bed companions since Afghanistan.

What was new was having strong arms reach for him across his dreams, and pull him into safety; where warmth and silent understanding waited.

The room was quiet now. Cool with the blue light of Lantea’s second moonrise. Nothing stirred, and soon John felt his heartbeat return to calm. A slow regular thud beneath the reassuring hand that anchored him.

Ronon’s breath was hot on John’s neck, blending with the moisture already there. Old fear distilled and leaching into now.

The weight pressed harder. Stilled the urge to flee that was building once again. Ghosts, donned thick with the blood and dust of ancient sands, determined to claim his sanity, and his soul.

John could feel every contour, every length of finger, each tip as it pressed home; branding him for themselves. Anger rose up to fight alongside the fear. 

_Strength in numbers. Think always of the man beside you._

It was too much! He was suffocating. Held under while he drowned. A flood of memories to swim through in the dark. Taunting him. Taking from him the only thing they could.

The hand and its companion moved as one; turning him, rolling him in close, back to chest. Ronon moved through the pattern of established reassurance he’d learned the first night he had shared John’s bed.

This was wrong! He and Ronon had each other’s backs. He had to protect Ronon, keep him safe, keep him whole. Ronon’s back was exposed for John’s sake; because John needed him thus. And that was a weight John couldn’t bear.

He fought. Weak as a kitten, and caught in the talons of panic. He’d let the ghosts have their way, would sacrifice the last of himself – if it meant Ronon was safe. A lousy trade, he knew – a crumpled burned out wreck, for a golden-hued god with a heart so pure. John’s soul cried. With all he’d done, John didn’t deserve to claim that peace for himself. Yet here Ronon was – wrapped lanky and tight and solid around him – anchoring John down, and keeping silent vigil against anything that dared to stalk them.

“What do you need?” Ronon had asked in the golden light of their first morning after. An atmosphere too beautiful for such morbid memories.

Ronon belonged to the light, seemed to soak it in; draw power from it. Whereas John, his reality was the dark; home of terror, regret, and hurt. It seemed a sacrilege to taint the only light in his life. But Ronon was enveloping him in that warmth; like it was a source of healing and forgiveness. He was right. John could feel it working, could sense and follow its progress, as it melted the tension in his very bones. Ronon didn’t pull back, if anything the hug intensified until everything in John ebbed away; left him weak and stunned. Blended him with the tower of strength that held him safe.

Ronon ducked close, nuzzled the short hair above John’s ear. “What do you need?”

John choked, throat parched from the night. “You.”

Ronon had breathed deep, had cleansed John as he kissed him.

But now, in the realm of night, where his ghosts held the power; John fought the strength that held him. The light he did not deserve.

Ronon ached for the man who lay rigid in his arms. Though the details were different, he recognised the landscape; had travelled it alone too many times, not to. Payment in full for a warrior’s life.

He pushed a thigh between both of John’s, felt the rasp of hair and moist heat with the slide; curled John in on himself with Ronon as his shield. Tonight was a bad one. His lover lost to his demons. But Ronon was not the kind of man to give up what he loved.

He leaned in, dreads scraping over pale shoulders to conceal them both, while soft lips and sharp teeth staked his claim on the man in his arms; the man who was responding, curling forward and exposing more tender skin; asking, pleading silently for more.

Ronon gave it, and felt himself harden at John’s supplicance. With his body he would claim John. With strength for two, he would banish all those who dared lay siege to his lover.

He slid a splayed palm down John’s heaving chest, stroked his flanks with the backs of his knuckles, then hooked up behind a knee to fit between. John pushed back, the only consent he could give. Ronon would take it, and more. He’d give back what was needed, and take pleasure in the deed.

John was still slick from before. His body trembled, his hole pulsing in anticipation. Ronon would never be able to decline an invitation like that. He slid, fat and heavy, between the globes of John’s ass; cock sucked deep as soon as the head pressed in. Ronon jerked his hips, shunted to his root. No air between.

John was full, blissfully full. A feeling so overwhelming it yanked him back to Atlantis, to his quarters, to his bed, and to the feel of his lover around him, on him, in him. He pushed back, rolled his hips in encouragement. Ronon was frustratingly still, an amused huff caressing the shell of his ear.

“Move!”

Ronon tugged on John’s dogtags, thumbed over their raised details before curling the chain in his fist. “These say _Colonel_ , but I am in charge here.” 

John shivered, and yeah, okay, he could live with that. Perhaps more than he’d realised. John allowed himself to unfurl, let the tension bleed out into the warmth of the man who had his back.

It was as if Ronon had been waiting, waiting for John’s awareness.

Ronon tightened his grip on neck and back of knee, and shoved; whooped the breath from John – replaced it with himself.

_“Ronon.”_

It was a plaintive wail that Ronon couldn’t ignore, so he dragged back, his body as reluctant to leave as John’s body was to release him. He loved the way John’s ass clutched weakly on withdrawal only to open before him on his return. His cock enveloped in the heat of John’s body, like he’d been there all along.

Ronon’s hands were on his shoulders yanking John down, impaling him like a worm on a hook. John wriggled, trying to get Ronon on his sweet spot. But his lover wasn’t giving in just yet; wanting only to plough John open, and nail up a sign reading _Ronon was here._ John was okay with that. Wasn’t like there’d ever be anyone else.

He flipped them, John fully under him, head mashed into their shared pillow, perfect ass caught in Ronon’s own hands. He grunted, felt John flex around his cock, and answered with a violent rut of his hips. John screamed with that last one, muffled the sound of his pleasure in sweaty cotton and pushed back. His own cock swung full and heavy and untouched between his spread thighs; slapped his belly with every stroke. John needed to be touched. But he knew, on nights like this, his release rested on the end of his lover’s cock – or not at all. Ronon wouldn’t touch him. It was his punishment, and his reward.

Ronon curled down, laid his weight over John and kissed between arched shoulder blades.

“Can’t have you.”

John shuddered, the husk of Ronon’s voice settling deep in his bones, echoing to his ass, pulsing around the hard heat filling him – branding him.

“Ronon!”

John loved it when Ronon got talkative. It happened so rarely.

“Mine.” Ronon growled, fingertips biting into narrow hips as he sank, teeth and cock, into the man beneath him.

The sting of Ronon’s bite to his neck was all John needed. His cock pulsed angrily over the mussed bedding while Ronon ploughed on; hunting his own release and hauling John’s hips impossibly tight against his own. Cock so deep John could feel him with every gasp. 

Nothing was better than this, except…

Ronon bellowed, his body rigid as he slicked John as deep as he could. No one had touched his colonel here. No one, save Ronon. A final jet at the thought; sudden and taking his last ounce of strength with it.

He rolled as he fell, John in his arms, still joined. Ronon jutted his hips, a last effort to give pleasure and reassurance. John moaned, wriggled in answer; his long lean body in agreement as they settled, muscles laxing as breathing slowed.

“Remember,” Ronon murmured against John’s lips, “they can no longer have you. For you are mine.”

John opened eagerly for a kiss as soft as Ronon’s words were unyielding.

Perhaps there was hope after all. And if there was, John knew that, for him, it lay with the man who not only shared his bed; but a life few would ever understand.


End file.
